


The Horned Queen

by brennasaur



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Battle, Blood and Gore, Half-Elves, Magic, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27945026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brennasaur/pseuds/brennasaur
Summary: Morrigan, a half-elf Fighter/Barbarian, takes on a mysterious tiefling in a 1v1 Death Match. If you guys enjoy this fiction, I'll upload more of her and her party! This is my PC from Out of the Abyss.





	The Horned Queen

Morrigan stood face to face with her opponent, who grinned at her with a mouth dripping with blood. She had watched him loose a clotted shower of the viscous liquid on top of his head, and it was still cascading down his impressive form in thick rivulets. He bowed graciously to her. 

“Challengers first.”

Longsword already drawn, Morrigan paused for a moment as she felt a familiar heat rising from the pit of her stomach. Her rage, summoned by the nonchalant manner of her foe, set in like an infection. She felt it eating every sane part of her, and her jaw--having been close into a tight line moments before--was forced open by bear-like fangs overtaking her mouth. She ran towards the tiefling with reckless abandon, thrusting the Grimmblade in front of her. She watched the phosphorescent moons lining its length flicker in the candlelight as it struck The Blade’s shield, sending vibrations up her arm. With a frustrated growl, Morrigan swung the sword back again, and again, and again. With each hit, her enemy smiled wider. The Blade wiped a trickle of fresh blood from his mouth.

“Interesting.” 

The tiefling shot out the same hand he had used to inspect his face, and Morrigan was too surprised by his strength to even flinch. When he touched her, she felt every neuron inside of her crackle with electricity, and the shock sent her ten feet away from The Blade. He followed her step by step, his own longsword appearing in his hand from absolutely nowhere. Morrigan saw a glimpse of the horned surface before it hit her, cutting through her exposed abdomen like a lukewarm pat of butter. She barely felt the strike, however, letting anger course through her veins instead of pain. They continued like this for some time; trading blows relentlessly. Morrigan, though buffed with enchantments from many of her compatriots, tried unsuccessfully to catch her breath and felt herself growing weaker. It was then that a pinch arose from her shoulder, and a soft shuffle of wings alerted her to Mela D’s presence despite the owl’s apparent invisibility. She smiled faintly to herself, knowing that M’akzwehl sent the bird to help her. She braced herself for the magic from her bard to flow through her-- but nothing came. Confused, she stared down at her gaping wounds. Her hand fell to her side in an attempt to grab a healing potion, but she was stopped in her tracks by the tiefling’s voice coming from across the arena.

“Well, I suppose if it’s going to be like that--”

Looking up, Morrigan noticed The Blade’s focus fixed towards the bloody painting on the wall of ‘The Horned King’, an imposing minotaur surveying the battleground. He snapped his sword away from his hand, and in the same motion flicked his palm open towards her. A blinding beam of energy set her on fire; or at least that’s what it felt like. She was aware of a powerful force attempting to pull her asunder, but with a cry of frustration she broke through the stream of sorcery, readying herself to finish the job before the tiefling could do the same to her. With a look of astonishment, The Blade sent blast after blast, each one weaker than the last. Morrigan stalked nearer to her adversary and raised her blade high. It was then that the Blade started screaming. She backed away on instinct and watched as he brought his hands to his head, scratching his temples as though he were attempting to dig out his own brain. Startled, Morrigan found her rage abating as her voice rose above the din.

“Hey, what’s happening?”

She received no answer, watching in horror as the horned blade was snapped back into existence by its master and driven straight into the tiefling’s skull. He went quiet and still, dropping to the ground. Morrigan’s mouth hung open as she surveyed the reaction of the crowd. She first saw The Blade’s followers getting up out of their seats calmly and filing toward her, and then she snuck a gaze at her party. They were gesturing wildly at the longsword jutting from her opponent’s head. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the hilt and pulled, but faced resistance from the steel having wedged itself in the unforgiving bone. Morrigan placed a boot heel on the side of the tiefling’s face, using this momentum to guide the sword out with a sickeningly wet sucking sound. She retreated then, continuing to track the advancement of the large group. A wave of exhaustion hit her, causing her to sway slightly on her feet. Her hearing flowed in and out, but she still heard M’akz’s voice from behind her.

“Bow down to your new Queen!”

Morrigan’s lips curled slowly upward in a smile, and with what little strength she had left, she propelled the weapon into the air in her closed fist, claiming her victory, then tipped toward the ground into an awkward curtsy to the incoming horde. The Blade’s followers paid her little mind as they grabbed his body and hung it upside down-- allowing his blood to flow into a basin. One of the Drow in the group filled a cup with it and offered it to Morrigan. She balked, wrinkling her nose.

“Uh-- can I ask… what’s going on? Am I supposed to drink that?”

The Drow grabbed her elbow gently, leading her towards the visage of the Minotaur.

“If you sit under the painting, all will be explained to you.”

Casting a nervous glance to her companions, Morrigan sought out the wizened eyes of her boyfriend and their paladin. As her gaze drifted to them, face stretched in alarm, it was as if the members of this strange gathering had just remembered they existed. A few of them stepped forward to escort the interlopers away. M’akzwehl’s worried cadence filled her with relief.

“We STAY. We serve her.”

Dunham, having loomed over one of the deep gnomes closest to him, raised his hand in an expert show of pretending to draw Dawn. The offending humanoids nodded their assent and returned to Morrigan, offering food, the same cup the Drow had held, and slathering her wounds with the blood of The Blade. She fell to her knees, unable to stand any longer. Her vision swam from technicolor to monochrome, and as she tried to focus on the effigy behind her, she noticed it beginning to shift. Panicked, she turned to find her friends, but instead was met with an echoing snort. Her eyes trailed from a giant muzzle to the sloping forehead of a massive bull who was currently staring into her very soul.

She gaped at it for a moment, then in the growing silence became increasingly uncomfortable.

“Can you-- speak?”

The bull’s eyes roved madly in their sockets as it replied.

“Don’t you wish to cast off the chains of conformity in this world and unleash its true bestial nature?”

Morrigan huffed out a small laugh.

“I think the world is bestial enough without my help.”

The bull did not return her sardonic humor. It merely cocked its head, fixing her in one bulging eyeball.

“Don’t you grow tired of having been a lonely girl in a maze your whole life, Morrigan?”

Hearing her name from its lips rendered the half-elf mute. In her quiet, the creature continued.

“Aren’t you afraid that you will be abandoned by these friends you’ve made, just as you abandoned your own family? What will you do then?”

A sting of hurt shot through Morrigan’s heart. She saw her empty village, the remnants of her childhood home-- but just as despair threatened to overtake her, she remembered who had been by her side as she discovered the ruin she’d left behind. M’akzwehl’s tender kiss before she had entered the battle tickled her lips and her memory-- and she heard his voice reminding her of who she was.

“This is what you were born to do.”

In a rare moment of confidence, Morrigan squared her shoulders and met the bull’s query with defiance.

“They would never leave me. And I was taken. I didn’t abandon my family. I didn’t.”

Her eyes stung at this realization. It was the first time she had let go of her own guilt out loud. The bull appraised her for a moment, then continued.

“Why did you fight my champion if you did not want to take up my mantle?”

Morrigan held up the blade in her hands.

“I was told I had no obligation to serve his lord. I WAS, however, promised this sword. And I AM taking it with me.”

To this, the creature did not reply. It simply snorted once more and left her with an invitation.

“Well, if you change your mind, Morrigan Skyshard, call upon the HeartCleaver.”

With that, the fighter’s eyes closed in a blink, opening lazily back up to see innumerable faces studying hers. A dwarven woman walked up to her.

“Are you to be our new champion?”

Morrigan sighed.

“Listen, we have a job to do, and--”

With an uninterested sigh, the woman turned to her companions and shouted.

“PACK IT UP.”

Scanning the room with unease, she watched as candles were blown out and trunks were filled and slammed shut. Morrigan saw M’akz and Dunham confronting the same Drow who had offered her the fallen tiefling’s blood. It seemed as though they were worried about their healing spells not taking hold on her, and with an unconcerned shrug, the Drow looked back at her.

“She’ll be fine after she sleeps.”

Without another word, the group left, stillness setting in once their footsteps had quickly faded out into the distance. Morrigan slumped on the wall, barely registering M’akzwehl pushing her hair from her damp forehead. The slashing wounds covering her body ached and her breathing felt like too much effort for her chest-- but as she felt the pommel of the heavy weapon in her grip-- a swell of pride overtook her seconds before her well-earned rest could.


End file.
